It was quiet. Not the sort of quiet that was calm and peaceful by ordinary standards, but the kind of quiet that meant a lack of life, of anything moving, of even the slightest wind. It was quiet, and Riley was not yet asleep. On occasion they had nights of this sort, but those were particularly rare now; they'd long moved past this, or so they thought. As the usual, they'd insisted upon sleeping outside the RED base tonight, alone and in the dark with not even the mildest sound of movement to comfort them. It was cool enough that they'd decided to sleep on top of their van, the stars the only light due to it being a new moon, and yet they could not rest.
Perhaps it was the thoughts that kept them up, as it usually was; in quiet of this nature they could think freely, let their mind wander without control or direction, but that itself could be dangerous depending on where it went. Sometimes it went to dark places, to deep and quiet and flowing movement, to cracking glass and rushing water - no. Not tonight. They didn't want to do that tonight. And yet, despite their best efforts, they found the thought much like the dark waves it represented, dragging and pulling in an effort to bring them under.
They could not remember where their fear of water came from. Or, perhaps they could and just actively forced it from their memories, denied it the power that had made them so afraid to peer out over the side as a child. Thankfully their true adoptive family had broken them of this, though now they still refused to go swimming, or near a body of water alone. They were not consciously aware of the reason why; they'd not let themselves be for many years now, ever since they were about seven. Or was it eight? The age didn't really matter when one did not know their own age, they'd long since stopped keeping track. Theoretically they were 37 now, but really, it didn't matter. None of this old shit mattered, but here they were, laying on their roof and staring absently at a flickering star, so lost in thought that if someone had made a noise they'd never hear it.
It started when they were four. Their memories, specifically. The first thing they could remember, truly remember, was swinging from the ropes on the deck of a large sailing ship, Australian in make and crew. Those men had found them, according to Flynn; he was the one that gave them the second half of their name, a broad-chested behemoth of a man with a heart of gold. Possibly literally, considering his occupation. Riley - their other namesake - had been the scrawny little nerd sat up in the hawk's nest at the top of the ship, even when they were in a storm and the entire vessel went sideways from the force of the waves or the wind or the elements in general. He'd also given them their hat, something they never allowed anyone to take or touch or even think about messing with. The other gift they'd given was a small vial of Australium, and absently one hand went to touch this, fiddle with it as they did when lost in thought. Before that was a mess of dark and movement and fear. So much fear. There was also a name, but it was one of those childish names they never really accepted was something they'd call anyone; Dee-dee. Seriously? No. Just, no.
Finally Riley sighed and rolled over, not realizing how much they'd been shifting; they almost went crashing off the rooftop, distracted as they were, and only barely managed to catch themselves. Oh, that was awkward. Good thing they were here alone. At least, they thought they were. Mild paranoia was enough to bring the sniper back to the present, get them to sit up and squint around suspiciously. But no, the only living thing in the area was that odd, bitty owl that'd made its home near their van. Good thing, too - they had their bow on them. God help anyone that actually tried to visit them after dark, the poor soul would probably end up full of arrows. Possibly covered in horrible-smelling, delibetrately awful lemonade, too. Finally they laid back down, laying their hat over their face so that they could actually relax and sleep. One thing stuck with them, even as they tried to do this; not quite a memory, but not something they'd imagined, either.
A face. A terrified, crying, familiar face.
Good thing they were already drifting off to sleep, but this night - as with every other - they'd not sleep well. They never did.